


burn for me baby, burn me up

by ninemoons42



Series: just as long as you stand by me [3]
Category: Final Fantasy X, Final Fantasy X & Final Fantasy X-2, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Birthday Smut, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Princess Noctis Lucis Caelum, Self-Indulgent, Shameless Smut, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 16:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12610832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: Princess Noctis celebrates her seventeenth birthday with a party she wasn't expecting, and a night with her most favorite person in the world, and -- well.What else can Prompto give except -- everything he has?(the last story in the world ofwith the road laid before our feet)





	burn for me baby, burn me up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [johanirae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johanirae/gifts), [Akumeoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumeoi/gifts).



> Final part of the lady!summoner!Noctis AU, written for dear friends and enablers Johanirae and Akumeoi.

He found her, at last, and at least this time she wasn’t on the move, wasn’t trying to go around every chattering knot of conversation, wasn’t trying to return every smile that was directed her way, wasn’t exchanging greetings left and right -- she was still, and there was no trace of the blue-fire light of her warping ability, and she was surrounded by every color he could think of and some he didn’t even know existed. The fallen colors and swept-up hues of her birthday party: fragments of foil and star-shaped confetti, and bedraggled ribbons trailing shredded thread. Piles of paper plates still crusted with sugar-crystal crumbs. Little shot glasses in a dozen clashing shapes and shades.

Here was Noctis Lastella, at the head of the long table that had taken up the whole wall of a small ballroom, somewhere in the mid-levels of the Citadel. Here she was in the black suit she’d had made for this specific occasion: her jacket of flared hems and skull-shaped elbow patches, her blouse of buttons on the front and lace insets at the collar and cuffs.

And the one detail he hadn’t been able to tear his eyes from, all throughout the party games and the roar of the classroom crowd and the vast spread of delicious things to eat and drink: her bare feet. Her toenails painted in glossy black and iridescent multicolored glitter.

Her bare feet where she was sitting on the floor among the sagging folds of the gaily stained tablecloth, that gave her away now that the ballroom was empty and everyone else had laughed and joked and clamored away to all their homes, leaving him in this space where the echoes of the night’s music had faded gently into soft slurred shadows of half-remembered song.

Her knees drawn up so she could brace her arms on them, and lay her forehead down, and he could remember, half-clearly, having a conversation with her in some sunlit place and time, where he had occupied more space in the world and she had occupied less, and he had watched her as she fell into a quiet drowsing daze, curled up and careful to stay out of everyone’s way, and he’d envied her because he wanted to do exactly the same thing. He could remember her sitting compact and comfortable next to his bed, in the cramped space of his little apartment, moonlight washing her shoulders and the hems of her outfit in pale coolness. And he could remember her rising from his crumpled sheets with her kiss-glazed mouth and her hair in flyaway waves, undone by his hands, and the scent of her skin left on his pillows where he’d pulled her collars prettily askew.

In the here and now, he could clearly hear the hum that rose from her: and maybe she wasn’t always completely in tune, maybe there were places where the melody got away from her, but she was pleasant enough to listen to all the same, as she looked up from her knees with her mouth quirked up in a smile that was also half a plaintive plea: “Please, please tell me they’re all gone.”

And Prompto smiled back, trying to reassure her. Threw himself to the cool stone floor, heedless of the glitter that stuck to his skin and to his freckles, and braced himself on his elbows, just within touching distance of her. “If you mean the school people, yeah, they’re all gone.”

“Oh good,” she said, and the low soft sigh she blew out made her lace shiver. “Tell me, why did I think that it was a good idea to go along with this whole party thing? I can’t remember how I even agreed to this.”

“Leaving party,” he said, gently ribbing. “Most of us are done with the whole school thing now. No more classes ever again unless we actively want ’em.”

“Which is true for them, maybe, but you and me? Nah.” Her deeply amused laugh, rising. “I have a diploma and so do you, big deal. Only means I’m out of the hands of the schoolteachers, and now I’m in the hands of -- well the entire fucking Crownsguard. Starting with Crowe, when she gets back from wherever she is now, whatever it is that made her miss out on my party.”

“Don’t remind me,” he laughed back, and pretended to fall flat onto his face. “But then I had a reminder staring me in the face all along. Gladio’s smile, brr, I already know I’m screwed a hundred ways over. What exactly are he and Ignis on anyway? Why do I have to train with swords? I thought that’s what you were around for?”

And his reward was her laughter, doubling, echoing pleasantly all around him and wrapping him in the warmth of her regard. Low rich sound that rippled around him, that he reached out for even though there was nothing for him to hold on to, that lingered in the spaces between his breaths, between the beat of his heart.

“Nice to know you think I’m useful for something,” he heard her say: and she just sounded sweetly teasing, sweetly mocking in an inviting way, and he was glad to hear that in her.

“I know what I’m good at,” he told her.

“So do I,” she pointed out, “and yet Ignis insists I learn things like -- stick-fighting. Better to know it and not need it, he says, and does he care that his lessons leave me limp on the mats? Nooo. He wears me out and I’m already worn out, just from thinking about those lessons.”

“You need a distraction,” he heard himself say.

“I need a distraction,” and he heard -- something deeper in her agreement, something that left him riveted to the slow grin as it spread its light from her mouth to her night-blue eyes. 

For some reason the way she was smiling now sent shivering warmth through him, left his belly cramping and the impulses in his nerves, in his muscles, careening wildly off-course. 

“You volunteering?” she asked.

Hot fierce spark in her eyes.

And truth be told, Prompto knew he was tired. He’d been roped into helping organize this party, after all: he’d taken far too many photos of everyone and everything as they whirled around Noctis. He’d wrangled the impromptu program of singing and dancing and parlor games, and all of that on only a mouthful of food and a scant glass or two to drink, and not enough sleep besides.

But it all fell away from him, all the bits that left him uncomfortable and worn, when he saw her smile and all of her, when he took her in: and now, now she was getting to her feet. She was holding her hand out to him. Hair fallen out of its intricate upswept style, stray streaks of glitter and lipstick across her cheeks, her own makeup almost swept clean away, and the contrast of her outfit and her bare feet.

It had been her birthday, but he felt like he, too, had received some kind of gift: someone he needed like breathing, like running, someone vital to him, way beyond important -- 

Easy, then, to scramble to his feet and catch her up by both of her wrists, to whirl her around in the tatters of her birthday party, just to hear her laugh, and then he could try to drink her laughter in, drink _her_ in -- 

Quiet sigh that fell from her mouth and into his as he kissed her, as he ran his tongue along the edges of her teeth, coaxing her to open up for him, all the way till he could feel the fierce thrum of her heartbeat as it settled right next to his.

All the way until he was shaking, till he came up for a desperate breath, till he felt the thunder of the blood rushing in his veins. “I,” he began, and his voice fell away into a rasp and for some reason that made her smile, and kiss his cheek. 

He tried again: “Before anything else, I love you, you know that, right?”

Her answer: more kisses, pressed in against the lines that he knew bracketed his mouth. “I know that,” she said, firmly. 

And as she spoke, she rolled her hips slowly and deliberately against his.

It wasn’t even the first time she’d ever done it, but it seemed to jolt wildfire through him every single time.

Just like now, and he groaned as he kissed her again, as he held her firmly in place, and dared to return the favor at last: where she clung to him, where she sighed into him, he ran his hands slow slow slow down her back, molding her to him, her breasts pressed against his chest, and he stepped further into the scant spaces between them so he was pinning her legs between his, and -- 

The gasp that left her as she tried to say, “Love you,” was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard her make.

And she was holding on to him, shivering and straining, and she was whispering urgently against his mouth: “Take me somewhere we can lock the door?”

“You beat me to it,” he rasped, and -- “Not here.”

“So not here,” he heard her say, and that was more than enough for him.

Difficult as it was to step away from her, it meant he could see the wild flush in her cheeks that seemed to reach all the way up past her eyes, all the way down past the collar of her suit. The hectic spark in her eyes. Lips gone slick sweet slack, open invitation -- he stole one more desperate kiss and then he was drawing her forward and he was following her lead, all but running out the doors, all but caught in the grip of her warping ability, and the Citadel vanishing from around them as she guided him out, onto night-shadowed streets, and the sky overhead was still stained with sunset hues, and the first stars winking into view. 

Taxicab whirling down the street, and he threw out a hand to hail it, and the driver stared at them as he ushered Noctis into the back.

Nothing but agony as he tried to keep his hands to himself during the frantic dash to his flat -- the same place she’d helped him unpack one rainy morning at the end of the summer -- but he knew he was leaning into Noctis’s touch, where she’d fitted the curve of her hand to his inner thigh, and he wanted her to keep touching him, wanted it so much he couldn’t find the words -- 

All he could say was a strangled “Come on,” after he’d paid the driver with shaking hands, after he’d located his keys, and she’d had to help him, she’d wrapped her hand around his and shoved the key to his room into the locks ranged along his door, and he’d tumbled in, breathless and dizzy because she was all he knew, all he could sense, all he could feel and he couldn’t get enough, he needed more and more and more, and so: “Sorry,” he muttered, as he backed her toward the bed.

“No, don’t be,” she said, and she was real, she was here, she was here with him and he glanced over his shoulder, toward the door.

“I locked it.” 

He looked down at Noctis in his arms, at the sweat beading in her hairline, the way she was biting her lips, the flaring need in her eyes.

“You -- you really want this, you want me,” he said, and he was already starting to struggle with his jacket and his shirt as he spoke.

“I want you,” he heard her say, clearly. “But -- same thing we do every time. We can still do that: we stop as soon as you feel uncomfortable.”

“I -- I don’t,” he said, and as he said the words he knew them to be the absolute and utter truth. “I -- not tonight. Not now. Tonight -- I’m yours. Just yours.”

Slow sweet smile, in response. “And I’m yours, just yours,” Noctis Lastella was saying.

And: “Let me.”

He knelt next to the bed, and clenched his hands into fists above his knees, as she undid his buttons, as she pushed his clothes away to leave him in his bare skin, and all the while she was smiling at him, her eyes flicking to his shoulders and his stomach and his arms and -- he was amazed because he saw his stretch marks and his unruly freckles but she seemed to see -- more reasons to smile.

Tug, on his belt loops.

He forced himself to stand, slowly.

And she rose with him, getting to her knees on the bed, so she could press a kiss to the skin above his navel -- she surely felt the roughness of his skin against her mouth, and she didn’t flinch away. She kept kissing him, even as she fumbled at the flies of his trousers, as she hesitated at last with his boxers -- only a moment, long enough for him to take courage from her blush and the flutter of her touch, and he helped her pull it all away.

Bared before her for the first time.

Another kiss to the skin of his stomach, the muscles beneath tightening as she breathed onto him, and he had been almost painfully hard from the moment he’d fallen into her kiss, back into the ballroom -- from the moment she’d offered herself, the wordless invitation of her as she pressed against him.

And he said, “Your turn?” while pulling gently on one lace-decorated cuff.

“Yeah,” she said, and she stepped away from the bed.

Turned her back on him as she shed her jacket and -- “Wow,” he half-laughed, and “You were cheating all along.”

He’d seen the intricate buttons on the front of her blouse where her jacket gaped open, a multitude of tiny squared shapes, but now he was looking at the back of that same blouse and it was so, so simple.

Nothing but a zipper from the high collar down to the billowing hems.

His fingers shaking, pulling down, and the material fell away into a soft pool at her feet with just one slight movement of her shoulders.

With her facing away from him, he didn’t have to fumble for the clasp of her brassiere.

With her facing away from him, he could take in the terrible jagged lines that stood out in the small of her back, raised skin that was too smooth and too cold to the touch.

And he could return the favor, here: he got on one knee and kissed her just above the point where the thickest scar-line crossed her spine. “You felt that, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, faint whisper.

One more kiss, just between her shoulder blades.

And: “Other zipper,” Noctis said, still quiet. 

Her right hand, pointing: the waistband of her trousers, the seam over her right hip.

Black briefs beneath, cut higher in the legs, red stitching in the seams to match the accents on her brassiere.

Soft nervous giggle, as he finished undressing her.

Her back to his front: he could look over her shoulder at the hard peaks of her breasts, the patch of dark hair framed by her thighs.

He could kiss her cheek to make her look at him, and he could smile so she could smile back. 

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he heard her say.

“Not tonight,” he promised, and he turned her around so she was facing him again.

Kisses to the corners of her eyes, to the tip of her nose, and her low quiet laugh -- and he pulled her arms up to wrap around his neck, and gently he bore her down into his crumpled sheets, into his pillows, and she seemed to fit, here, where he knelt over her and she was smiling fearlessly up at him.

Fearless enough that he could say, out loud, “I have no idea what we’re doing.”

Fearless enough that he laughed when she did -- when she said, “What makes you think I do?”

“I have no idea,” he said, again.

But his hand was moving as if of its own volition: he traced circles into the skin of her shoulder, pale and warm. Drew his fingertips down, brushing her dusky-pink nipple, which went tight and peaked and she tried to hide her moan in his arm and he whispered, “Yeah, I want to hear you.”

“Prom,” she said, shivering as he traced widening circles over her breast. 

What did she taste like there?

He bent his head and tasted the salt of her sweat, the lingering trace of musk and sweet-smelling flowers on her skin, and oh, how she cried out when his mouth closed on her nipple, when he rolled that nub on his tongue.

Blindly he nosed across to the other one, and tasted it too, and felt the shiver of her against his mouth.

Felt the sounds of his name as she said it, again and again -- with lips and tongue and fingers he was tracing a path over her stomach and down to the crease of her hip, and finally to her core.

He had no words for the feeling of stroking into her, one finger, two, three: for the way she gasped, the way she rolled her hips, the bitten-off sounds falling from her mouth, the way she seemed to twist into his movements to show him the way -- 

“Tell me if this feels good,” he said, shaking as he worked his fingers deeper and deeper, as she seemed to draw him in, further into the blinding heat of her -- 

“Don’t stop don’t stop _please!_ ” Soft words that seemed to shake through him.

He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her leg as he kept going, and he lost track of the time -- he only saw the blind need twisting her features, only heard the gasp of her breaths and of his -- 

Her hand gripping him by the wrist and she seemed to take him in, further, and he crooked his fingers to better fit the shape of her within and she cried out, suddenly, and she was nothing but tension, tight tight curve of her, her mouth open on a silent cry, before she collapsed to the sheets and shivered in silence.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked as he carefully withdrew his fingers.

“N-no,” he heard her say, after a moment.

“Good,” he heard her say.

“Fuck,” she laughed, and -- it hit him then.

“I did that? You -- ”

“Yeah, you did that, you made me come,” and she was laughing, soft exhilarated high, and he hid his grin in her stomach.

“I want to make you come, too,” she said.

Eyes wide, he looked back at her.

She was sitting up and she was tilting her head at him. “Show me how you touch yourself?”

“I uh -- ”

But he wanted her, he wanted her to, and she was offering, plain clear eager.

“Here,” she said, offering him her hand.

And he ended up sitting near the head of his bed, with Noctis on her knees behind him, the warm press of her bare skin over his shoulder, and her hair spread over his chest.

His hand guiding hers over his cock, steady firm strokes, and her hand was both softer and rougher than his own and the movement of her left him breathless and wordless and he let his head fall back into the slope of her chest, against the curve of her throat, the strangled gasps gathering behind his teeth as she twisted her wrist carefully, one way and then another -- 

“Noct,” he groaned, nothing left in him but the blinding need -- 

“Fast or slow,” and she was gasping, too, as she leaned more heavily into him --

“Just like that, _fuck_ \-- ”

The shape of her mouth pressed to his shoulder and the edges of her teeth in his skin, biting, sweet sharp, and the flutter of her fingertips over his cock until there was no longer any point in holding back and he was mouthing her name as he fell blindly, gratefully, into his release.

She left him boneless and silent and he pulled her down to his side, and curled himself around her. “Okay?” he mumbled into the back of her neck.

“Very okay,” she said, just as slurred.

He was about to fall asleep when he mumbled, “That’s one way of doing it, right?”

Sharp-edged laugh in response, slow-drunk. “You mean, fucking? Yeah. One way.”

“One way,” he said, happily. “One down.”

“Let me sleep and I’ll think about it,” she teased. “Another way or two.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, and he kissed her shoulder, sloppy-sweet. “Good birthday?”

“Yeah. Really good.”

“Yeah,” he said. And: “Love you Noct.”

“Prom? I bloody love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr at my FFXV sideblog [@ninemoons42-lestallumhaven](http://ninemoons42-lestallumhaven.tumblr.com/) or at my main [@ninemoons42](http://ninemoons42.tumblr.com/)!


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